


My- His-

by Hutcheeran91



Category: Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell, Simon Snow & Related Fandoms
Genre: Cliche, It's my first fic in a really long time, M/M, No Plot/Plotless, Pining Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch, Prompt Fic, Watford Eighth Year, also i don't know how to tag
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-22
Updated: 2019-11-22
Packaged: 2021-02-26 01:08:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 639
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21524986
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hutcheeran91/pseuds/Hutcheeran91
Summary: A night out doesn't exactly go as planned and, the morning after, Baz gets quite angsty about it.
Relationships: Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch/Simon Snow
Comments: 1
Kudos: 32





	My- His-

**Author's Note:**

> It's just a scene that came to my mind while I was browsing for prompts to get me back into writing, sooo it has no plot whatsoever. I put down a couple words and just decided to publish it, because why not. Also, no proofreading. Sorry.   
> Hope you enjoy it :)

I’m going to kill him. I swear to Aleister fucking Crowley, I’m going to kill him. And then I’m going to cry on his lifeless body. On my lifeless body. I don’t even know anymore.

I keep staring at my- his- my reflection in the mirror and his- my- his striking, boring blue eyes, as if staring could change things in any kind of way. Of course it won’t, I might be in another body but I’ve still got my mind, thank God. I would have never handled to be as thick as Snow.

I can’t even handle being in his body, to be honest. To be able to be so close to it, to be _in_ it, it’s unbearable. I’ve only had him so close during some of our fights, in those kind of arousing moments in which he would press me against the wall, whispering venom infused words about my plots, my evil plans, my demise. About me, in a way. In return I would sneer and spit all the venom back, until he was too upset to keep going with our spiteful back and forth, or until he just went off in a blaze, setting me on fire, more than I already was as a consequence of his closeness.

I’m going to kill him. And then I’m going to kill myself, I could never live bearing the weight of the murder of the love of my life on my shoulders.

I raise a shaky, insecure hand, and bring it to my cheek. The skin is soft, so soft, so warm. I’ve never been this warm in thirteen years. I bring it to the lips. Soft. Rosy. Plump. I wish I could kiss them. I was planning on doing it just before offing myself, once I would have racked up the courage to do it. Now I won’t be able to feel them against mine anymore, I could only feel mine against his- mine- I don’t know. I’m so confused. 

I don’t know anything anymore. I don’t know how we ended up like this, I don’t know how nor why. I just know that it’s Snow’s fault. I should have never accepted to go to that stupid, boring party last night, and I shouldn’t have drunk so much. Usually, I’m not one who lets himself be dragged by his friends, really, and I hate drinking (it makes me smell awful). I just thought that for one night, one night only, I could try and have fun and let the others push me. And I swear that seeing Snow almost screwing his damned girlfriend in front of my own eyes has nothing to do with it.

The hand goes up, it brushes the tangled mess on my- his head then gets buried in it. The locks are extremely tousled and sticky to the touch in some areas (God knows what ended up on them), yet doing _this_ feels so good. Maybe I should wash them, use some of my products, make them smooth and silky. I should have a shower, actually, but I’m not sure I’m ready to see his naked body. It would feel like too much of a violation, even though I’m pretty sure that he wouldn’t think twice about getting into the shower with my bare body, only to childishly make fun of my greyness.

I exhale slowly as the hand comes down, and my eyes find his again. His eyes find mine again. I’m breathless. I get closer to the mirror, the eyes never leaving those reflected, analysing them, trying to burn every single little detail in my memory. They’re not boring blue. They’re…. They’re…

A violent knock on the door makes me jump. “The fuck you want, you absolute nightmare?” I snarl.

“Baz, come on, I’ve been holding my pee for ages!”. Fuck.


End file.
